Some Things Aren't Meant to be Forgotten
by Semebay
Summary: Arthur misses Alfred's birthday party, and a certain American is not amused.


**Title:** Some Things Aren't Meant to be Forgotten  
**Rating:** PG  
**Character(s)/Pairing(s):** USUK  
**Word Count:** 1579  
**Original Publication Date:** February 8, 2010  
**Summary:** Arthur misses Alfred's birthday party, and a certain American is not amused.

Arthur was coming to his birthday party.  
_  
Arthur was coming to his birthday party._

To say that Alfred was panicking was an understatement.

The man was running back and forth, grabbing drinks and food, setting everything up and then putting it all back in its place.

Arthur had never come to his birthday party. He moped around at home, he did not attend the birthday party of one arrogant prat that was self-absorbed and rebellion-loving.

As Alfred set up the coffee maker for the fifth time in ten minutes, he wondered what had changed in the last year. Rather, what had changed in the last _month_. Arthur had been rather insistent on saying that he was not going to be anywhere near the States when the fourth rolled around, and Alfred had accepted it. Arthur still resented the Revolution that had torn them apart, so it was no surprise that he wouldn't want to be nearby when every major city was setting off fireworks to remind everyone of the battles and the heartbreak.

Alfred found himself in a staring contest with the calender. What should he get? Arthur didn't like coffee, so maybe he'd like tea? But tea was gross, so maybe it would be better to buy some bottles of iced tea, like Nestea or something. Then it would be good in case it was too hot.

But then Arthur would make fun of him, or get mad for being too thoughtless (he was thinking, _damn it_!). It would be better to get both. He was already out the door and in his truck, on the way to the store down the street. He wondered deep down how weird it would be, for people to see him buying_ tea_. Of course, when he had grabbed a basket and started through the aisles, he had forgotten all about what people would think. Instead, he was grabbing as many boxes of tea as he could (he had no idea what Arthur would want!) and cramming them into the basket, then he moved on to get the bottled stuff to put in the refrigerator.

And the clerk didn't say a thing when he checked out. Just scanned his items and handed them over (but Alfred was sure she thought he was a bit _weird_ for getting so much tea; he never considered the notion that she just didn't care).

Alfred had already set up another table in his house (reserved for the tea), when he got the phone call.

"Oh, Arthur?" Alfred tried to calm his rapid heart. "What d'you want?"

"Listen, I won't be able to make it to the party tomorrow," Arthur said. He sounded distant, and he said something more, but Alfred didn't hear him.

Alfred was staring at the table, set up just right with a tablecloth and a basket of straws, the boxes of tea bags centered like some sort of great religious icon, with porcelain mugs off to the side.

He hadn't been excited.

He really hadn't.

"Work came up, I don't know _what _the secretary was thinking, leaving it until now, are you still there?"

"Yeah," Alfred said quickly, trying to sound like he didn't feel like crawling in bed and staying there for the rest of the week. "Yeah, I get it. Guess I'll see you at the nest meeting?"

Alfred didn't hear Arthur's response. He stared dumbly at the phone for a long time, then turned it off and dropped it on the table.

It looked like he had to put everything away.

~*~

Arthur glared at the mountain of papers before him. Trust the new secretary to forget about important forms and documents. He shifted his eyes briefly to the clock, mourning the time. Right about now, Alfred would be finishing his party and sending fireworks into the sky while cramming a burger into his mouth (while Hong Kong helped, much to Yao's chagrin).

He had wanted to be at the party; he really had. He wanted to say congratulations for another year of not dying, not fading to black like their predecessors of long ago.

But thanks to a bimbo in a business suit that looked more revealing than professional, he was stuck with a week's worth of paperwork, that was due in less than twenty-four hours.

Of course, the more he tried to concentrate on the work, the more his mind drifted to Alfred.

He envied the man. Youth, spontaneity, the belief that he could change the world, and make a difference...

He remembered being like that when he was young. He could remember the need for freedom, could remember his time under Roman rule. Could remember the relief and the ecstatic emotions when he was under his own rule once more.

Arthur was so caught up in his thoughts that he never noticed the rising sun. When he finally took it in, he groaned and buried his face in his hands. He needed sleep. He needed to finish his work.

He peeked at the papers in between his fingers, cursing them into oblivion. His faeries had disappeared long ago in search of something fun to do, and he felt rather lonely.

"Bullocks," he grumbled.

Arthur collapsed on his couch. Thirteen hours, and the mountain of paperwork was done. Bloody-fucking-done. He let his head rest against the back of the couch, his eyes shutting, and he took a deep breath.

It was silent for a long time. Then, Arthur slowly opened his eyes.

He wasn't alone.

Arthur sat still, staring up at the ceiling. He wondered idly whether the stranger in the room could hear his beating heart, could sense his surprise and (he hated to admit) fear.

He wondered how the stranger had gotten inside. How could he have gotten inside his _home_, without him _knowing_?

He could hear the slight breaths across the room, near his chair. He hated to admit his fear (he had been in countless wars, after all), but he could hear his breaths become louder as time passed.

"You don't have to cry," a low voice murmured, and Arthur jumped at the break in the suffocating silence.

"Bloody fucking hell, Alfred!" Arthur cursed, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. "What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing in my house?"

"Why'd you skip my birthday?" Alfred asked, his voice low. Arthur looked at him, his hanging head and his sunken frame. "You said you were coming."

"I had work to do," Arthur grumbled, trying to recover from the shock. His heart refused to slow down.

"You don't have to lie about it," Alfred continued. "I mean, if you hate coming around this time of year, you could've just said you weren't coming from the beginning."

"What do you mean, _"this time of year"_?"

It was as though Arthur had never spoken. "I know my birthday is a sore spot and all, but you don't have to lie about coming and not show up. I mean-"

Arthur's mind had shut down by that point in time, occupied only by the thought of: _what in the bloody hell?_

"Sure, since we split it was hard, but I mean, I thought we'd gotten past that. We have fun together, and I might've been a bit late in the world wars, but I _did_ show up when I finally got my bosses to pay attention. And yeah, the terrorism thing is a bit out of hand, and-"

"What the hell are you on about?" Arthur finally interrupted, looking confused. "Are you suggesting that I'm still "hung up" on something that happened over two centuries ago?"

Alfred gaped. He blinked, looked around, then turned his eyes back towards Arthur. "What?"

"Alfred, the Revolution happened over two hundred years ago," Arthur said, keeping his voice even. "I understand the need for freedom. Hell, I had to fight for my freedom numerous times."

Alfred had fallen silent, mirroring Arthur's confusion and working his mouth like a fish, trying to find something to say.

"But you've never been to one of my birthday parties!" Alfred complained. He had stood, walking hesitantly to Arthur and dropping down on the couch beside him. "Ever!"

"Yes I have! I can't believe you forgot!" Arthur looked caught between relief and annoyance at the thought that something so important had been forgotten. "It was an excellent party. I can't believe you."

The two remained silent, each waiting for the other to say something. Alfred let his head fall against Arthur's shoulder, and the older nation mumbled something under his breath.

"If you came before, why haven't you shown up again?"

Arthur tensed, and Alfred lifted his head. "Arthur?"

"It's nothing."

But Alfred was having none of that. "C'mon, Iggy!" he whined. "Why haven't you come back? My birthdays are awesome! Did someone do something t' you?"

Arthur sniffed. "If you must know," he began, "you almost blew me up with a Roman Candle."

Alfred snorted, and Arthur looked scandalized. "What?" Arthur demanded.

"Guess that means you don't want to see what's in the car?"

Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes. Then he choked as Alfred wrapped his arms around his body, squeezing him and pulling him into his lap.

"Damn it, Alfre-"

"It's my birthday," Alfred muttered, and Arthur could imagine the pout on his face. "Just relax, 'kay?"

"Fine," Arthur said, but he still fell back silently, taking a deep breath and relaxing in Alfred's arms. "Happy Birthday."


End file.
